Seven years in, and everybody more or less knows what to expect from Britain's Got Talent. Street dance. Sob stories. Judges who shout impossible percentages at contestants instead of just saying "yes". Judges who say "It's a yes" instead of just saying "yes". Amanda Holden only being able to express astonishment by detaching her jaw like a hungry snake about to devour an egg. A bit more street dance. Nothing else.

And yet this year, a new element has been introduced to the show: constant accusations of fakery. Britain's Got Talent isn't Britain's Got Talent any more, it seems, unless Monday's tabloids are jammed with outraged claims that all the decent contestants were famous before they auditioned.

Take the Johnson Brothers – a pair of nice, if slightly Mulligan and O'Hare-ish, young men who belted out a nice, if slightly Mulligan and O'Hare-ish version of The Impossible Dream last week. They were introduced as sandwich makers from Wales, but have since been exposed as secret cruise ship singers.

Then there was Francine Lewis, the impressionist who dazzled Simon Cowell with impersonations of Stacey Solomon and Katie Price. It was an unprecedented performance. Original, unique. Unless, of course, you'd seen her doing the exact same impersonations of Stacey Solomon and Katie Price on Channel 4's Very Important People last year.

The best (or worst) was Alice Fredenham, who shook off her crippling nerves to perform My Funny Valentine in the first episode of BGT, but then turned up on The Voice one week later breezily confident. Was she faking it on BGT? Does Cowell have the nerve to puppetmaster the performers? Was this all a giant conspiracy? Are any of us expected to ever believe anything we see ever again?

The real question raised here is whether or not anyone actually cares any more. After more than a decade of reality TV talent shows, we've become inured to this, haven't we? Every year, audiences are expected to endure at least one story about an act that already has a record deal, or has a lucrative cruise ship career, or was brought in as a ringer by the producers. I mean, how long has that dancing five-year-old from Saturday's show been in the business? Two decades? Three? And, frankly, I've yet to be convinced that Pudsey the dancing dog wasn't just a kid with a rug taped to him all along.

By this point, all the backstage jiggery-pokery should just wash over us, so why am I still bothered? Is it because the accusations of fakery harm Britain's Got Talent, or is it because entertainment has become even more cynical than us, the viewers? Maybe, as I imagine Simon Cowell whispers to his army of wannabes, it's all just "part of the fun" and I'm over-thinking it. But then again, maybe BGT just isn't that fun anymore. Let me know what you think.